Chosen:aftermath
by homeric
Summary: A collection of out-takes set after my AU story.  Chapter 1 Tristan/Kate.  2,3,4 and 5. Lancelot/Lucan/OC.
1. Guns and Good Intentions

**Disclaimer: The knights aren't mine.**

**This is a little scene that belongs to my "Chosen" AU (post apocalyptic Britain). Just one of a few little bits and pieces I'll put up as follow ups to the main story. I had a couple of messages asking for some more Kate/Tristan, so here we go. Smut ahoy so be warned.**

Kate undid and retied her ponytail for the seventh time in what she reckoned was about three hours. The clock that used to sit on the wall over the microwave had been obliterated by the bomb that had taken out half the kitchen and more than one of her friends a month earlier, so it was pretty much guess work or asking the few people that had working watches when it came to telling the time.

The sun was mostly down though, so six o clock seemed about right. The light was an improbable bright orange and bounced off the cracks in the repaired kitchen window so that it was hard to see out, but nonetheless she tried.

The grass was growing up through the gouges made from the tank that had ripped through the fence that had defended the fort at Hadrian's wall, and one of the re-built barracks looked shiny and new in the dying light. Re-building had started almost as soon as Saxon and his men had been defeated, and the refugees were turning the tatty tent encampment into a row of small houses with admirable speed. Two men sharing a cigarette by the recently decimated shower block noticed her looking at them and waved before picking up their tools and getting back to work. She lifted her hand in acknowledgement, but wasn't sure if they had seen her reply.

The refugee camp was now a building site.

_Hell, the whole world was a building site._

_But out there was Tristan._

_Bloody, moody, don't say a word and fuck off into the forest when you know that there are still some of Saxon's followers out there, and the last time you faced them off you ended up in a hospital bed, Tristan._

The opening of the kitchen door dragged her attention away, and at least promised the outlet of some of her pent up fear, but the the dark haired girl who entered took one look at her and held up her hands in surrender.

"Back off. Saw that look in the mirror this morning – just because the boys are out fighting doesn't mean we should start between ourselves."

Kate couldn't help but laugh. Alice might be a bit ditzy at times but when it counted she saw right to the heart of things and didn't hesitate in giving her opinion. Resting against the wall, she watched as the pretty brunette put the kettle on and poured them both a cup of tea. There was milk now, and that was a treat, so she sipped the drink carefully and savoured the taste.

"How many cows have we got now?"

Alice shrugged. "Fifteen Fri.. Friasia.." Rolling her eyes she gave a wry smile. "Those black and white ones. There's a bull wild on the hill, Dagonet reckons. A couple of the blokes in the camp are going to make pen for it."

"If they can catch it."

Alice sat down, crossed her legs and tucked her arms across her stomach. "They'll catch it. Probably. That Welsh bloke, Gavin, seems to know what he's talking about. He's taking a load of people up to go bull fishing or rodeoing or whatever tomorrow." Picking up her tea, Alice blew across the surface to cool it and stared off into space.

The silence was so solid that Kate wondered if it might actually be a third member of the conversation.

"Gawain's coming back. It's a scouting trip that's all."

"I didn't say that he wasn't." Alice's answer was too quick and too defensive to be honest. Looking into the cup of tea that rested upon her lap as though it might have the answers to the future, a little of her old spirit returned and the corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. "Anyway, you're not one to talk – how many times have you cleaned the oven? It won't make Tristan come back any faster."

"It needed cleaning," Kate said defensively. Looking at the object in question, she couldn't help noticing that it still looked a bit grubby.

"Oh no you don't." Alice grabbed the jay cloth by the sink before Kate had a chance to reach for it and promptly sat on it. "We haven't got many cloths left, and I'm not having you ruining the ones we've got just because you're fidgety."

Looking at the blonde girl perched upon the cloth with her arms crossed and her lips pursed, Kate couldn't help but laugh.

"You look like a broody hen." Settling for wiping a couple of mugs with a rag that served as a tea towel, she gave a smile. "That cloth's wet you know, you really don't want damp knickers – Gawain'll be back soon."

"When Gawain gets back I don't reckon I'll be wearing them for very long," Alice said flippantly, getting up and tossing the jay cloth into the sink.

Kate shook her head in mock rebuke. "Tart."

"Prude," Alice retorted. "Anyway, it's not like you can talk. You've been sleeping with Tristan for the past week. Either that or you've been sleeping on the floor, 'cause the beds haven't been slept in our room since I made them last Thursday."

Kate paused before putting the mug she had been cleaning on the shelf. It was true that she hadn't slept in the room that she had previously shared with Alice, but while her friend and former room mate was correct in assuming that she had been sleeping with Tristan the context was off.

True, they'd made tentative steps towards a more stable relationship than the few erotic fumblings and intimacies shared more by accident than design before the last battle with Saxon, but since then...

She knew that Tristan liked her sleeping next to him. She knew that he cared for her, worried about her, and was a pain in the arse when she ignored him and did as she pleased anyway. In the early days his injuries sustained while fighting had made her wary of reaching out to him, but now that he was mostly healed she was more than a little confused as to why he hadn't tried to take things further, and too shy to instigate sex herself.

"Kate?" Alice looked at her friend with concern. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry."

"It's ok. You didn't..." The unmistakable roar of a Range Rover's engine interrupted her words, and the two women grinned at each other before rushing over to the window. Sure enough, the car that had been appropriated from the former General of the camp was bouncing its way up the grassy slope that led to Hadrians Wall. Alice immediately dashed outside, but Kate paused for a moment to watch and make sure that all was well.

Galahad tumbled out of the car and promptly threw up. _No surprise there, _Kate thought to herself. The youngest Samartian was notoriously car sick, and with Burgess driving it was likely that there wasn't much left in his stomach by now. Burgess himself hopped out of the drivers seat and shook his head sorrowfully at the sight before wandering off towards towards the armoury that housed his beloved weapons, lifting up his t-shirt and giving his ample belly a scratch as he did so. Vaguely noticing Alice throwing herself into Gawain's welcoming arms and cooing over a bunch of flowers that even from fifty feet away looked squashed, Kate let out a breath that she hadn't known she had been holding when Tristan slid out of the back seat and walked over to Arthur who had hurried down to meet his returning soldiers.

_He looked ok,_ she thought with relief. The same fluid grace and economy of movement, no visible wounds or bandages. Whatever the scout had to say to Arthur had to be important because the pair of them were deep in conversation within moments, and watching Guinevere walk over and join the discussion, Kate suddenly felt very self conscious. The Commander's young lover managed to look beautiful and elegant even dressed in a pair of combat trousers and a shirt that was at least three sizes too big for her. Both Arthur and Tristan were obviously listening intently to what she had to say, and catching her own reflection in the window glass, Kate inwardly winced.

Her blonde hair was sticky with sweat from the steam from the kettle, and worry had left dark smudges under her eyes. A ketchup stain made a strange comma of sauce on her shirt just above her breast, and grabbing the jay cloth that Alice had taken off her earlier, she managed to make matters worse by scrubbing at it.

"Shit". There wasn't any way to escape from the kitchen and change without Tristan seeing her, and in truth nothing nice to change into anyway. Wistfully Kate thought of the clothes she'd had in her wardrobe before the virus had struck and decimated anything resembling a normal life. _The white cotton dress from Monsoon that was long enough to be decorous but showed enough cleavage to be sexy... The black denim skirt that fitted her so well that her fiancé had told her to stop admiring her backside in the mirror and come to bed already. Wouldn't it be nice to greet Tristan looking pretty for once? _Glancing out the window she watched Gawain toss Alice over her shoulder and pretend to be a caveman as her friend pretended to struggle. The two were beautiful together with their dark and golden hair mingling and identical smiles, and so it took a moment for Kate to realise that she wasn't alone.

"Hello Kate." Tristan's voice was quiet, but lost in her thoughts the interruption was so unexpected that she jumped and only barely missed giving herself a concussion on the corner of the kitchen cupboard.

"Hello." Steadying herself against the wall, Kate gave him a smile. "Sorry, I was miles away."

"Looked like it." Seating himself at the kitchen table, he appraised her with searching amber eyes. "How have you been?"

_Apart from worrying my self sick over you? Thinking of ways in which you could have been horribly killed? Generally acting like a love-struck fourteen year old? _Kate turned away and put the kettle on.

"I've been fine, thanks. How did the scouting go?"

"Alright."

The traitorous kettle decided to be obliging for once and boiled almost immediately, giving her no time to think. Pouring a cup of tea, she struggled for something to say.

"Building's coming along well isn't it."

Tristan sipped his tea and didn't take his eyes off her.

"Looks like it."

"Right." There wasn't anything to clean up, so Kate leant against the sink and did her best not to look at the man seated at the table in front of her. With his long legs sprawled under the table and his hair flopping into his eyes he looked strangely vulnerable. Watching as he reached into the pocket of the coat he'd shrugged off, she moved closer when he beckoned her.

"I got something for you."

"Ok." Feeling her heart leap, she stopped dead when she saw what Tristan had taken out of his pocket. In comparison Gawain's battered flowers that he had no doubt pinched from someone's garden was an offering worthy of Casanova.

"It's a gun." Kate looked at the weapon Tristan had placed on the rickety table with mistrust. It was sleek, shiny, lethal, and not something she really wanted to pick up. The taciturn northerner looked at her with an expression that was almost nervous, and she laughed despite herself.

"If you're going to get me presents then why can't you be like Gawain and, I don't know, pick flowers?"

"You want me to pick you flowers?" Tristan lifted an eyebrow.

"No," Kate admitted. "Anything remotely normal when it comes to you would probably mean that you had a head injury.. You don't do you?" She looked at him suspiciously. There were no obvious signs of blood or injury, but with Tristan it was always best to check, as the only way he'd admit to being hurt was if he literally couldn't stand up, and even then it took a bollocking from Arthur to get him into the infirmary. "But I've already got a gun. I don't need another one". She nodded at the Beretta that was sat on the top of the cupboard over the sink. It was wrapped in a tea towel with a picture of Cliff Richard on it that someone from the camp had brought with them. Kate often wondered what was more disturbing – the fact that she needed a handgun in the kitchen or the way that the singer from the sixties' printed eyes seemed to follow her whenever she looked at it.

"This one's lighter." Tristan nudged his chair back and picked up the object in question. "See? It'll fit you better; easier to hide and easier to handle." His warm fingers curled around her wrist and placed the cold steel in her palm .

"Ok That's..." _Shit, what _was _that? A friendly gesture?what was he trying to say?_

"I want you to be safe when I'm not around." His words were abrupt, but Kate saw the wariness in his eyes and realised that he felt as awkward as she did.

"We're not doing this very well are we?" She said softly. "The whole intimacy thing."

"Doesn't mean that we can't try."

"Does that mean you want to?" The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Didn't bring anyone else a gun back did I?" His words were defensive, his eyes confused, and Kate burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry." It was an effort to get the words out. Leaning against the wall, she shook her head and backhanded the tears of mirth from her eyes. "I love you, you know. You're mental but I actually really do love you."

"Fucking weird way of showing it," the scout muttered. Kate felt his hand grab her wrist, and although it hurt a little she let him lead her off to what was now "their" quarters.

* * *

_Jesus. _It had been a long couple of days, but any remnants of tiredness disappeared when Tristan debriefed Arthur and headed off towards the kitchen. Kate hadn't heard him push the door open, so lost was she in whatever it was that she was looking at out of the window. Not that Tristan had minded. It was rare to find her so still – usually she flitted about nervously, anxious to please or placate or worry about someone other than herself.

In the dying light her pale hair glowed , and when she noticed him the brief look of surprised delight transformed her face from pretty to truly beautiful. It was a bit of a shame then that she looked at him as though he was totally insane when he gave her the Glock. _It was a good gun, one that had taken him a while to find for her. _Tristan tried to justify the gift in his own mind. Going out on missions was necessary, but leaving Kate alone wasn't something he was comfortable with – she left her weapon wrapped up in a tea-towel for Gods sake! True Saxon was dead, but there were plenty of men at the camp that could hurt her, and that wasn't taking into account the last of Saxon's men who lived in the forest and bore a grudge against the lot of them. For a moment she looked utterly perplexed when he tried to explain the reasoning and he could have kicked himself.

_Flowers. Jewellery. Hell, even teddy bears – that was what women wanted. _For the first time in his life Tristan wished he'd taken Gawain's advice when it came to women.

But then Kate started laughing and looked at him, really _looked_ at him and made everything ok again in the way she always did without really seeming to mean to.

He led her back to his bedroom without thinking and without noticing the stares of the refugees that they passed. Slamming the door closed and sitting on the bed, it was only then that he realised that he'd pretty much dragged her there without asking her permission.

"Sorry."

Kate leaned against the door and rubbed her wrist. With a surge of guilt, Tristan noticed the discolouration on the pale skin. There would be bruises there come morning. She obviously noticed the direction of his gaze and tugged her shirt sleeves down over her knuckles.

"What gives, Tristan?" she said softly. "You look after me, you sleep with me but you don't touch me. You give me a gun but not a reply when I tell you that I love you. What do you want from me?"

_Shit, where to start? How about the next fifty or so years? _

"I want you to be happy." Alright, not exactly Shakespeare, but at least it was honest. Tristan watched Kate's eyes narrow and felt his heart constrict when she walked over to him and pressed a tentative kiss to his lips.

"You make me happy", she whispered. " And I meant what I said." Settling down on his lap, she rested her head on his shoulder and gave a shuddering sigh.

Running his hand down her spine, he kissed the curve where her neck met her shoulders, knowing that it was ticklish and knowing to hold her around the waist so that she couldn't escape. Running his thumb over her lips he met her eyes, dark and serious.

"You've got shit taste in men, Kate," he said quietly. "You can do better."

She took his hand and kissed the palm. "Nah, I like the bloke I've got." Pulling her shirt over her head she sat back a little so that she was perched on his knees, and wasn't that all sorts of beautiful? The pounding of his heart was echoed by the throb of his erection, and it took all of his will power not to crush her closer or throw her down on the bed and take her there and then.

Instead Tristan stroked her cheek, letting one long finger trace down the curve of her jaw and down the slender column of her neck. When she leaned down to kiss him he kissed her collar bones instead, his hands grazing her ribs.

"Tristan..." It was more of a whimper than a request, and rolling over so that Kate was underneath him on the bed, he let his hand drift downwards. The jeans she wore were baggy and it was easy to slip his hand underneath the waistband, and easier still to slide two fingers inside her. She was hot and wet, and feeling her arch against his hand, he felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Fuck.. I... Please." Her eyelids fluttered and one hand grabbed his forearm so hard that it hurt when he pushed the heel of his hand against her clit. She came apart moments later with a sob, her inner walls pulsing around his fingers, tears sliding down her cheeks.

"You're beautiful," he said honestly.

Kate opened her eyes and reached up to kiss him.

"Finish this, finish me," she whispered, rocking her hips against his straining arousal. Her fingers were struggling with the buttons on his shirt, and impatient, Tristan sat back and pulled it over his head. The rest of his clothing followed suit and joined Kate's on the floor. Bracing himself over the blonde that had scooted up onto the pillows, he cupped her cheek.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Propping herself up on her elbows she watched as he opened a drawer in the bedside cabinet and found a condom. Too shy to do it herself she nonetheless reached out and touched his hand as he rolled the latex down his shaft. His cock twitched and she smiled when Tristan had to bite back a groan."Like that do you?"

She yelped when he rolled her over onto her back, his arms braced on either side of her head, his erection hot rocking agonizingly slowly at her entrance.

"We do this then that's it, you're mine." The words gritted out seemed crude, but Kate gave a sweet smile and bucked her hips up, impaling herself upon him. Biting back a groan Tristan rocked forward, feeling Kate's hot warmth envelop him, the sweet pain of her nails digging into his back and the harsh sound of her breath against his ear. He kept himself in check as best he could, withdrawing and teasing her with his mouth when he came too close to climax, learning the places that made her cry out and pull the sheets from the mattress. Finally giving in to his own desire he slammed into her and felt her ankles dig into his back.

"Yours." It was more of a plea than a promise, but feeling her go over the edge again, her body tightening around him, it was enough to send him over with her. Rolling over onto his back he took her with him so that she was draped across his chest.

"So what does "mine" mean then", Kate said eventually. Wriggling off Tristan's chest she flopped back onto the rumpled sheets. "I'm not exactly "kept woman" material – ask Germanius."

Tristan gave her a tired smile. "I'll just have to be a kept bloke then won't I."

"Can't imagine anyone taming you.," Kate muttered. Running a hand over the flat plane of his belly and through the black and silver hair that covered his chest, she rested her hand upon Tristan's heart.

"Maybe not." His hand came up and trapped hers, holding it to the sweaty skin. "I could probably be domesticated though."

Kate gave a snort and tugged her hand free, rolling onto her back. "Sounds like a lot of work to me."

"Yeah well," Tristan studied the ceiling. "When the bloke is madly in love with the most beautiful girl at Hadrians wall then she's pretty much got a sure thing when it comes to training."

"So you've got a thing for Guinevere then."

"Nope, Arthur's got a thing for Guinevere." Tristan tucked a lock of sweaty hair behind her ear and kissed her forehead. "I've got a thing for Kate."

"Good to know." Snuggling her head against his side, Kate closed her eyes.

"So are you going to marry me or what?"

Kate yawned. "We don't have any priests or anyone to do the proper paperwork here. Even if you did ask me, and I hope that wasn't a proposal because that was rubbish, none of it would be legal."

"Whose going to argue?" Tristan kissed Kate deeply and licked her breast. Her skin tasted slightly of ketchup, but since the unexpected was now the norm he merely shrugged and moved lower down her body. When she kicked on leg over his shoulders he kissed her sweetly on the inside of her thigh and got to work. After all she had tormented his dreams for the half dozen nights that he had been away, it was only fair that he gave her a little pay back...


	2. Zebras and Guilty Consciences Part 1

**Nothing you recognise belongs to me. A little thing that belongs to the aftermath of my "Chosen" Au. Part one of three in this episode.**

"Here. His name is Carrot."

It took a couple of moments for Lancelot to pull himself out of half slumber, lift his head off the stone wall that he had been resting against, and focus on the object dangling in front of him. The little stuffed zebra held in the small boy's hand was grimy, but the tag protruding from its belly identified itself as having being once part of a child's Mc Donalds Happy meal.

_Happy meal toys, mad men and criminals, _he thought dimly, letting the small boy place the little stuffed zebra in his lap. _What strange things to escape the apocalypse._

"You helped get me out of the dark place, so I got something for you." The child eyed the the toy in his hand and shoved the hand that wasn't encased in a cast into the pockets of what had to be at least third or fourth hand me down jeans. "Like a reward or a thank-you. So now we're even." Blue eyes far older than their years narrowed, and Lancelot almost laughed. Instead he studied the offering.

"Alright." He turned the toy over in his hand. It looked back at him with wonky orange plastic eyes. The stomach of the stuffed animal was squashed from what had obviously been small fingers holding it too tight and the legs were misshapen. It looked vaguely familiar from one of the films he had watched while doped out of his mind with his ex girlfriend curled up against him and his so-called friends passed out on the floor, but the memory of them hurt to much to linger upon, and so he turned his attention to the boy.

"It's Lucan isn't it?" He said quietly to the small blonde boy infront of him. _I remember you from that hell hole I helped drag you and Guinevere out of_ didn't seem to be appropriate, so he settled for "How are you getting along?"

"I'm ok." Lucan's voice was matter of fact, but his eyes were curious. "You got shot by one of the Saxons . Dagonet told me. He blew up Thomas in the big fight."

_Right then, from bad to worse. Where the hell was Bors or the handbook for dealing with really awkward situations involving kids?_

"Thomas was..." Lancelot paused, trying to think of the right words.

"He was a right evil bastard and the tosser killed people." Lucan squared his small shoulders. "That's what Jennie says, but excuse her French."

Lancelot tried and failed to work out how that litany of woe could possibly fit into what he remembered from long ago French classes, but was spared the effort by the arrival of an extremely flustered woman. Her dark red hair was half escaping its ponytail and her cheeks were flushed, but the expression of love and relief that lit up her tired brown eyes hit him harder than any of Saxon's bombs. She might have been perhaps in her late twenties but exhaustion made it hard to tell.

"Lucan?" Walking over quickly she picked up the young boy, hugged him, put him down and shoved her hands in her pockets as though to prevent herself from strangling him. "Do you remember what we talked about when it comes to leaving the camp?"

Lancelot suppressed a smile as the small blond boy looked up at the pretty red-head with an innocence that wasn't at all convincing.

"Don't do it unless you have to," the eight year old said seriously. "I had to give something to Mr Lancelot though, so that makes it alright."

The woman looked confused, and Lancelot held up the toy in explanation, trying not to laugh when she not so subtly rolled her eyes.

"Brilliant," she muttered, barely acknowledging him. Crouching down she placed her hands on Lucan's shoulders. "An amendment to that rule. Even if you have to do something then tell me or someone else first, ok?"

"Ok." The boy glanced at Lancelot with a _why do women fuss so much?_ look, and the Samartian had to bite down a smile so as not to offend the woman with him.

Getting to his feet, he winced inwardly as she took a step back. His barely healed leg cried out in protest when he tried to put his weight on it, but he shoved back the pain and tried to smile. "Lucan just came to say hello. I'm sorry, I didn't realise he wasn't supposed to be here."

"No... Um, I'm sorry we didn't mean to intrude." Her brown eyes were wide, and she took Lucan's arm with a hand that was not quite steady. Fear perhaps made her hasty - certainly she was intimidated, and Lancelot felt himself wishing that his brother wasn't out on a scouting mission. Arthur already had the love and respect of the camp at Hadrain's wall. So far he had been most famous for almost bleeding out on it.

"So do you like Jenny or not?" Lucan asked, obviously bored with the impasse. "Because if you do then you'd better get a move on. David is much better at talking to her than you are, and he's much better looking. And he lives in the room next door." The boy narrowed his eyes at Lancelot appraisingly. "Kevin, he's the bloke who lives down the hall fancies her as well, because I've seen him looking at her bum when she locks the door. You're taller than him though, but you saved her life like you saved me so she might kiss you if you ask her."

"Lucan, that's..." The pretty woman who was presumably called Jenny flushed crimson and feeling sorry for someone else rather than himself for the moment Lancelot smiled at her.

"I think that it might be best if we started again with the introductions." Holding out his hand the woman took it and gave a quick, polite squeeze. "I'm Lancelot, and you are?"

"Jennifer. Jenny," she amended. Lucan took that opportunity to sidle off towards the barracks, but catching him by the collar, she gave him a little shake. "No running off."

Lucan gave a smile that Lancelot recognised as being wholly insincere from knowledge of once being Lucan's age and inwardly made a note to himself to keep an eye on the boy. Watching Lucan race towards a group of children who greeted him gleefully, Lancelot felt his heart sink and wondered why he even cared what a load of kids he didn't know got up to.

"He's a good boy really." Jennifer, _no Jenny, _he corrected himself watched the boy go with an unreadable expression on her face. Turning her gaze towards him she gave Lancelot a sad smile.

"He's just a bit impulsive. You and Dagonet are hero figures to Lucan."

_Dagonet _was _a hero, _Lancelot thought with a pang of regret. _He'd almost died to save the people at Hadrian's Wall. _Glancing at the woman beside him he tried not to notice the gold flecks in her brown eyes and the quiet faith in her expression when she met his gaze.

"I'm not a hero." The words were supposed to be cruel and defiant, and Lancelot almost winced at how pathetic and unsure they sounded when he spoke them aloud.

Jennifer shrugged and narrowed her dark eyes, studying him as though he were a species of animal that she had never seen before.

"You saved Lucan." she said decisively after a moment. "You fought even though you were wounded when Saxon attacked. You might be a self pitying idiot but that doesn't mean that Lucan and I don't owe you. I'm cooking you dinner; tonight at eight. You don't have to dress up but if you could drag a comb through the mess that is your hair I'd consider it a favour."

Lancelot blinked, torn between outrage and amusement.

"And if I refuse?"

"You'll break the heart of an orphaned little boy," she retorted. "Do you really want me to make a complaint to your brother?" Turning, she gave him a sunny smile, and Lancelot couldn't help but grin. _One meal... What harm could it do?_


	3. Zebras and Guilty Consciences Part 2

**Disclaimer: heh you know the drill by now. Nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

Lancelot scrubbed a bar of soap through his hair and grimaced as the shower once again capriciously decided to go from almost boiling to freezing. Shivering under the spray that felt like needles against his skin, he washed as quickly as he could, turned off the water and grabbed the threadbare towel that he had left by the sink. The material was scratchy when he rubbed his face with it, catching on the stubble that had sprouted on his chin. Tracing the outline of his jaw, he wondered if he should shave. It might make him look a little more presentable, and women's skin was sensitive; if he were to kiss Jenny goodnight then he didn't want to ruin that pretty soft skin with stubble rash.

Arthur, bless and curse him had made sure that he had basic toiletries, and so Lancelot took advantage of the disposable razors that were in the bathroom cupboard. _Might as well keep in practice when it came to shaving,_he thought, carefully scraping away the bristles from his chin. _It wouldn't be too long until the only personal grooming appliances left would be traditional cut-throat razors, and since he was capable of cutting himself on Gillette's safety razors he might have to re-assess the pro and cons of being clean shaven in the near future._

Drying off, he tossed the wet towel over the shower curtain rail, and smiled at the thought that after all these years Arthur's obsessive tidiness had finally rubbed off on him. No more dropping his damp towels onto the ground and expecting someone else to pick them up; not that there actually was anyone to pick them up for him, but still. His lips twitched in a smile- perhaps he was finally growing up.

The amusement died when he caught sight of himself in the mirror behind the bathroom door. While the backdrop to his reflection was hardly flattering, it certainly seemed to be apt; he looked as destroyed as the bomb ravaged bathroom did. Dark eyes turned almost black by the shadows beneath them, his skin pale apart from the bruises that decorated his ribcage in patterns of lavender and yellow, and that was before he even got to the neatly stitched but bloody painful gunshot wound in his thigh. Lancelot studied his reflection and wondered at his presumption at anticipating a kiss at the end of the evening. He looked more likely to need an ambulance than a tumble beneath the sheets.

Leaning down he gripped the chipped edges of the sink, watching as the last of the water gurgled down the plug hole. He felt his heart start to hammer in his chest and forced himself to breathe slowly.

Charm had got him a long way in life. His good looks further. But now.. If he were honest with himself, a state of mind that he preferred not to indulge in, he felt utterly lost. He had been a decent enough fighter, but Saxon's threat was gone. He didn't know anything about re-building or plumbing or anything that would be of use at the camp. What use was he to anyone? Watching his knuckles turn from tan to pink, Lancelot struggled to keep his equilibrium. A droplet of water seemed to take an age to slide down the side of the basin and he forced himself to hold his breath until it eventually disappeared into the drain before lifting his head and looking into the mirror again.

The exhausted man looking back at him looked both familiar and alien. Childishly sticking his tongue out at his reflection, Lancelot dragged a comb through his hair and dressed in the least grubby combat pants and shirt that he could find.

Jenny was being kind because he had been kind to Lucan. Quid pro quo and all that.. It was her attempt at a courtesy not a date. But maybe he could make the boy feel a bit better, and given all that Lucan had been through in the past month he couldn't begrudge him that.

The barracks were blessedly quiet as he limped down the corridor, and when he descended the stairs that led outside towards the broad swathe of grass leading to the woods, he remembered why. The party had been organized weeks ago but he had had little interest and nothing to do with it. Outside the main dining hall several chicken carcasses turned slowly upon a makeshift spit, on another large pig. A half dozen corn on the cobs were being fished off the wire that covered the fire and snatched up as soon as they had cooled by the young and old alike before being swiftly replaced. The camp sheltered people of all races and faiths, but most were just willing to find an excuse for a celebration. Halloween was an odd choice when it came to throwing a party, but since all the most vocal religious factions were equally opposed to it in the end the roast had brought everyone together even if it had been done by mutual antagonism that dissipated when faced with good food and excited children .

Almost tripping over two small boys who were racing around the barracks in what he presumed to be some sort of game, Lancelot made his way through the path that had been trodden through the long grass that separated the military camp from the refugees they protected. For once the sky wasn't overcast, and in the slight breeze the trees at the edge of the camp swayed inky black to the music of a plain looking woman with a beautiful voice and a group of Merlin's men playing various instruments, only two of which Lancelot could name. Glancing back he saw Arthur dancing with Guinevere by the bonfire. His brother had none of the woman in his arms' grace, but his contented smile made up for it. When the slender brunette sidestepped and raised herself on tip toe in order to both capture Arthur's lips in a kiss and avoid being trodden on, Lancelot smiled. _Good for you, Bruv, _he thought. _A party and a beautiful girl. About time you had some fun._

_And speaking of beautiful girls._

_No scratch that. Beautiful women._

The little squares of light that illuminated the windows of the caravan where Jenny and Lucan dwelt glowed bright and warm in the darkness. Wiping suddenly sweaty hands on his combat trousers, the door opened before he had time to knock.

"Come on then, I'm starving." Lucan pushed back the half opened door and trotted back into the living area of the caravan, obviously expecting Lancelot to follow. "We're having pasta. There's no cheese so its not as nice as what my mum used to make but Jenny's good at finding herbs so she puts them on top instead."

Following the boy and only half listening to what he was babbling on about, Lancelot smiled at Jenny whose cheeks were flushed from the heat of the stove, as she stirred something in a saucepan.

"Hi." She gave him a quick grin and waved him over to the little table at the end of the caravan. "Have a seat, I won't be a second. Lucan, could you get our guest a drink?"

Wincing slightly, Lancelot managed to squeeze himself into the the corner seat. The edge of the table dug into his belly and finding a way to arrange his legs that didn't mean pulling his stitches and shifting uncomfortably every five minutes was difficult, but he rested his elbows on the table and watched Lucan fidget restlessly.

"We've only got water really," the blond haired boy said eventually. "There's juice stuff but that tastes like sick. Jenny's kept a bottle of wine back so you can have that if you want."

"Water's fine." Lucan nodded and busied himself with finding several glasses and filling them with water from a bottle in the little fridge.

Jenny brought over several plates and gave Lancelot a nervous smile.

"Sorry about the décor; it was here when I was given it."

"It's..." Lancelot actually looked at the paintings that decorated the caravan. Over the cooker the paint had started to peel, but every other surface was covered with various fantastical creatures. A dragon perched by the skylight, a unicorn cantered towards the door, half obscured by the raincoats hanging on the back of it. He wasn't one for whimsy or fairytales but the effect was oddly charming. Whoever had taken the time to paint the place had had talent. "I was a Tolkien geek as a kid," he said with a smile. "This is great. You're missing a few Orcs though."

Jenny laughed and decanted the pasta into three plates before using a tea towel to remove several pieces of bread from beneath the grill. "There are enough Orcs in the camp already; some blokes need a serious lesson in personal hygiene."

"Not a fan of the rough and ready look then," Lancelot said with amusement.

Jenny slid a plate over to him and a smaller one to Lucan before grabbing her own meal and a handful of cutlery.

"I don't know." Passing around the toast she pretended to consider the question. "I'd rather have Aragorn or Eomer than Legolas – elves sound like too much high maintenance."

Lancelot took a fork-full of pasta and swallowed it. Given the limited rations available it wasn't too bad despite Lucan's less than enthusiastic description of Jenny's cooking.

"This is great," he said honestly. "I can't remember the last time that anyone cooked for me."

Jenny's cheeks flushed prettily and she dropped her eyes to her own meal, obviously embarrassed. "Well it's not much considering what you did for everyone here."

Had Lucan not been watching the both of them with interest Lancelot might have chanced a flirtatious comment, but instead he made small talk about the weather, the expansion of the camp and Tristan and Kate's upcoming wedding. It turned out that Jenny knew Kate from attempting and failing to mend the microwave in the kitchens that had been destroyed by one of Saxon's bombs. Lancelot learned that she had been an electrician before the virus had struck and was doing her best to improve the generators that provided power to the camp. Lucan had ended up with her more by accident than design, but as they chatted and ate, the boy occasionally quizzing him with uncomfortable questions about the war against Saxon and more comfortable questions about his favourite Transformer, it was clear to see why they Jenny and Lucan remained together. They just seemed to fit as though they had always been family, and while Lucan spoke of Dagonet with hero-worship and the two were obviously close, the boy had needed a mother and Jenny had been there to provide one.

Jenny picked up the plates when they were finished and put them in the sink, giving an apologetic look back at the man and boy seated at the table. "Sorry, there isn't any dessert."

Lucan squirmed restlessly, giving a quick glance out of the window, and she took pity on him.

"The Halloween festival is still going on." Glancing hesitantly at Lancelot she tried to keep her composure. Asking him for dinner was one thing, being seen out in public was quite another. There would be gossip, and as a war hero and Arthur's brother he probably had more than a few women warming his bed.

Lancelot smiled, giving a wicked grin he nodded towards Lucan. "I think someone here would like to go and apparently Han has used his explosives training to make up a pretty decent fireworks display. Might as well make the most of it."

"Can we?" Lucan's face was so hopeful that Jenny almost laughed.

"Alright, give me two seconds to find our coats."

Grabbing two anoraks off their pegs, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror opposite the door. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink. For the first time in months she felt almost a little excited and fought the urge to shake her head at herself. _Pack it in girl, _she told herself firmly.

But when Lucan raced ahead towards the bonfire and Lancelot stumbled, wincing as his wounded leg threatened to give out on him she took his arm and didn't pull away once he had regained his footing.

**A/N: Thanks for reading, sorry for the delay. The Lancelot part of the story will be a bit fluffy incase you hadn't noticed. I put him through the wringer in "Chosen" so I thought he deserved a little love. **

**The lovely DryadWarriorQueen has started Bors and Vanora's story in the "Chosen" universe – It's called "Survival" and is on Ffnet rated M.**

**LeeMayfair has made some beautiful banners for "Chosen" and "Llynya's Song". Links on my profile page.**

.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: not mine **

_There was something to be said about bonfires, _Jenny thought to herself. _Even if they did bring back memories of cities now skeletons of brick and ash._

The flames that licked towards the stars were hot enough to make her cheeks flush even a dozen paces away. No Guy Fawkes effigy upon the pyre, but several people were roasting marshmallows over the flames and handing out the sticky treats to the children sat safely out of reach of danger.

It could have been any November the fifth from her childhood were it not for the scorch marks that

burnt a trail through the grass towards the forest.

Of course in her experience Guy Fawkes night wasn't usually the world's most awkward date.

_And was it really a date? _

And November the fifth was a bit of an odd choice for a first date after an apocalypse.

And there wasn't usually a ridiculously good looking man next to her whose restless dark eyes roved the crowds of revellers, but flicked towards her every time he thought she wasn't looking.

And there wasn't Lucan who she definitely shouldn't have said "hello" to when she found him without realising that it came with the caveat _Feed the kid once and think that you are just going to walk away? _To consider.

And...Jenny tried to wrestle her thoughts into some sort of order and remain calm and composed. Winding herself up about the situation (_one that you actually engineered_, she thought ruefully), was just going to make Lucan uncomfortable when Lancelot made his excuses and went back to his duties and his higher ranking friends. Thinking up any topic of conversation seemed to be a bit beyond her though. She didn't really know what to bring up aside from the weather or things that neither of them wanted to talk about. They had both been a lot more relaxed in her little caravan where she had just been talking to Lancelot and not Commander Castus's brother, and where they had both shot each other a surreptitious smile when Lucan had not so subtly dropped the crusts of his toast onto the Samartian's plate.

Catching a glimpse of Burgess the portly weapons expert with an armful of fireworks and an expression of utter glee as he trotted towards the bonfire, she felt a little better. Burgess was nice but a lot less socially adept than she was, and since Arthur didn't mind him shacking up with the admittedly cute Han whose appearance was as pin neat as Burgess's was untidy, she probably didn't need to worry too much about people talking. God knew what would happen if the two of them had a lovers tiff though she thought with a shudder; presumably Guinevere would have to be sent in to talk both blokes down before they blew the whole place up.

Lucan for his part seemed oblivious to his guardian's unease and had promptly abandoned her as soon as he had caught sight of his friends. From time to time he was silhouetted against the bonfire, playing some sort of game with the kids, which apparently meant mock swordfighting with the sticks used to melt the marshmallows they were gobbling like there was no tomorrow.

Jenny didn't really blame them. In the past year the entire foundations of society had been shaken so hard that trying to recreate any sort of normalcy was a bit like trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing. So, alright, the kids probably shouldn't be waving sticks like that, and Lucan definitely shouldn't have tossed a marshmallow at the poor bloke in charge of stopping the kids from getting too close to the fire, but since no-one really seemed in danger of getting hurt that would be a lecture for later. _Carpe Diem_, she thought. Or whatever seize the night was in Latin. _Carpe Nocturne?_ It sounded sort of right, but also like one of the goth bands she had listened to in college. Whatever, it was good advice, and advice that she should take, Jenny told herself firmly. Just go for it and say something clever and flirtatious.

She glanced at Lancelot and immediately her mouth went dry. He looked troubled, dark eyes narrowed against the light of the fire, his jaw tense. For a moment Jenny cast her eyes around to check for anything that would had caused such a reaction, but nothing really stood out. A Catherine Wheel spat sparks onto the patch of grass that had been fenced off from the refugees. Nearby Han, the resident explosives expert plugged a couple of what looked like home made rockets into the ground. The bass of the music thundered through the chilly air and most people looked far happier than at any gathering she had seen in the past year. Whatever it was that Lancelot was thinking about was an unwelcome memory from the past.

"Hey." Reaching out a couple of inches she brushed her knuckles against his. "No point in worrying about things you can't change."

Lancelot blinked and huffed out a breath that dissipated like dragon's smoke in the chilly air. His eyes were warm though, and when Jenny made to tuck her hand back into her sleeve, he caught her fingers in his.

"Jesus!" He quickly shoved both their hands in his pocket. The wax jacket he wore wasn't very roomy, and so Jenny almost fell into him, only Lancelot's other hand grabbing her and placing her next to her preventing her from falling over. "Your hands are fucking freezing." Taking her other hand he buried it in the folds of his coat. "Haven't you ever heard of gloves?"

Jenny thought about wriggling out of his grasp. She had no doubt that he'd let her go if she wanted him to, but to be honest her hands had been cold, and pressed up against Lancelot suddenly it wasn't just the bonfire sending a flash of heat through her. Against her palm the muscles of his stomach bunched when she shifted her weight, and glancing upwards she caught the ripple of the muscles of his jaw work as he swallowed. _Well then... Looks like the tables had turned. _She tried very hard to suppress a smile. If she was going to stand outside in the cold next to the ridiculously good looking man who she had tried not to watch since she had found the camp, well, why not make the most of it?

"I've got lots of gloves," she said innocently. "In Cardiff." Wriggling her fingers slightly deeper into his pocket and brushing his hipbone , she pretended to snuggle against him for warmth and not to notice the noise he made deep in his throat. "It's a bit far to go though. And from what I hear Saxon burnt most of Wales so I suppose I'll have to just keep an eye out for hand warmers."

"Hand warmers..." One of his dark curls brushed her forehead and his breath was hot against her cheek as she pressed closer. His mouth was so close as his free hand traced her neck and cupped her chin.

"Get Back!" The voice, shrill through the loudspeaker startled everyone, and served as effectively as a bucket of cold water thrown over Jenny's head. Jumping back, she realised too late that one of her hands was still in Lancelot's pocket and had to scrabble to get it free, in the process kicking his still wounded leg.

"Shit, shit, shit. I'm really sorry." This time she was the one holding him up. The Samartian gave her a cross between a grimace and a smile before gingerly putting his foot back down on the grass and regaining his balance.

"What's happening?" Around them refugees, Merlin's hippies and the soldiers were hurrying past them up the hill. A familiar face barrelled out of the crowd and a panting Gawain, one hand holding onto his girlfriend Alice, another a bawling child of about six years old, slid to a halt infront of them and took a moment to take a breath.

"Get moving Lance," the blond said worriedly. "A couple of dipshit teenagers got into the weapons bunker and thought it would be a good idea to muck around. Half of it's on fire it's only a matter of minutes before everything goes sky high."

Jenny's heart started racing. Around them people were fleeing like rats deserting a sinking ship, stragglers either picked up or helped as the crowd surged away from the main base. She let go of a breath that she hadn't known that she had been holding when she saw Lucan jogging beside Dagonet, the big man carrying several young children on his shoulders and her young ward leading half a dozen others towards the barracks.

_Ok. That was good. That was very, very good. But if the weapons bunker went up in flames then that would not only destroy all the weapons they had for defence and hunting, but when the serious artillery went boom it would take out the generators, the water purification and half a years worth of canned goods stored down there for the winter. _

Grabbing Gawain's arm before he could follow Alice, Jenny tried to keep calm.

"Where did the fire start? The back?" The last question was more thinking out loud than a genuine enquiry – Han kept the explosives locked up in a steel box by the front stairwell next to the artillery shells that were likewise only accessible by the few people trusted with a key. Fire, however didn't bother with such societal niceties as locks or keys, and the boxes while mostly people proof probably weren't fire-proof. If the fire had reached them then then no-one would have the luxury of worrying about it.

"Yeah. Burgess and Han were knocked out by the blast. We've got to go." Gawain seemed to be too distracted by keeping watch on the crowds that surged around them, and Jenny had to yank hard on his sleeve to get his attention.

"Who's in there, where's the fire?" she said urgently.

Gawain shrugged helplessly, obviously wanting to go and retrieve some of the stragglers at the base of the hill. "Two of the kids are dead. The rest of them got out, but it's too dangerous to get near the bunker. The whole thing is going to go up at any moment."

Jenny barely heard the last of his words, bolting down the hill and dodging the last of the people evacuating the meadow, she tried to remember everything that she had learned from the architects sketches rescued from the late General Germanius's safe. She and a small group of men and women had managed to get the electricity cables to circumvent the bunker and get the generators going again after Saxon's attack, but some of the fail-safes in the bunker were still in place.

If they hadn't shorted out.

If the whole place didn't go up in a messy display of nitro glycerine, gunpowder and bits of amateur electrician.

The running was surprisingly easy as she raced down the hill – Jenny wasn't sure that she could have stopped if she had wanted to. There were people yelling at her, she dimly recognised Lancelot calling her name, but sheer momentum made her take the steps down into the bunker three at a time and it was only by sheer luck that she managed to throw her arm up and cushion her head preventing a concussion as she hit the wall.

_Okay, okay, okay.. _The heat from the fire tightened her skin and made her eyes water, but dropping to her knees, at least the smoke was a little easier to deal with. Fire licked at the far end of the big room that housed the weaponry, but although it swept hungrily towards the door it hadn't yet reached the ammunition stores. Crawling forwards, she blinked watering eyes and found the keypad hidden under an already warping plastic cover. Tucking her fingers under the sleeve of her coat she had a moment of panic before she remembered the numbers and punched them in. 1066. The battle of Hastings. Some in-joke of Burgess's that she wasn't privy to but thank god remembered. The heat was so intense that it was starting to make her dizzy. Or was that the smoke? _The fireguards were supposed to come down now, _she thought. Getting up seemed to be too much of an effort, so she tried to keep her head up and looked back at the staircase that was getting blurrier by the moment. _But what if the codes had changed or the wires were fried? Nothing was happening..._ Struggling to her knees, Jenny was knocked flat by the slam of a reinforced metal shield bisecting the bunker, cutting off the fire and almost taking her foot off in the process. As the emergency lights flickered on the last thing she remembered was being picked up and someone who sounded a lot like Lancelot telling her she was a fucking idiot before everything went black.

* * *

"Jenny?" Lucan's voice seemed very far away, but when Jenny managed to open smoke sore eyes the boy was peering at her only a foot away. She gave him as decent a smile as she could, relieved that whatever had happened at least they were still alive. A gentle hand lifted her head and brought a straw to her lips. She wasn't sure what was better, the sweet slide of cool water down her parched throat or Lancelot's smile as he watched her swallow it down.

" Enough?"

Jenny nodded and wiped her mouth with a hand that seemed almost too heavy to lift. Her head ached a little and her throat was sore, but testing her limbs tentatively it didn't seem like she was hurt, and since she recognised the medical wing which was still typically quiet, apparently the fort was still in one piece.

"Alright love?" Sasha, one of the nurses bustled over, all blonde hair, bosom and kind blue eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright I think." Looking at Lucan and Lancelot sitting next to her bed managing to look both sympathetic to the nurse and murderous towards her, Jenny gave a weak smile. Nice as it would be to play the invalid card, she would rather be back in her own bed all things considered, and since she had probably saved quite a lot of people, Lucan could bloody well stop sulking, and Lancelot didn't have the right to be there anyway.

Lancelot had stubble on his chin, she noticed. He looked a bit like a pirate on the cover of one of those trashy novels her mum pretended to have collected for the charity shop. She opened her mouth to tell him that, but some dormant flicker of self preservation kicked in and she attempted to fumble through the wooly mess that her brain had turned into in search of something more intelligent to say.

"Did the fire..."

Alright, not that intelligent, but Sasha didn't seem too perturbed.

"Don't worry about that, love. Everyone's fine – you're a proper hero; such a brave thing that you did, even Commander Castus and Guinevere have been in to ask after you."

"Oh." Jenny didn't have the energy to think up a reply to that, although she reasoned, if you had to meet what was essentially royalty doing it while unconscious was probably the most painless and certainly less embarrassing way of doing so.

"Anyway," Sasha fished a tiny torch out of her pocket and shone it into a blinking Jenny's eyes, before passing her a huge duffel coat. "Sorry, but yours was only fit for the bonfire and this was going spare, your boyfriend probably has something a bit more suitable for you back home." She gave the young red head a knowing wink before bustling away to attend a young pregnant woman.

"Boyfriend?" Jenny said in bewilderment, kicking her legs over the side of the bed and getting shakily to her feet. "I.."

"I might have lied a bit," Lancelot murmured in her ear as he slid her arms into the coat and shrugged it over her shoulders. "It was that or you'd have to stay here overnight to be kept under observation."

Seeing her dark eyes widen, he stepped back. "It's up to you. I thought I'd take the sofa bed and you and Lucan could share the bed. You can't be alone if you've got a concussion and I thought that you would be more comfortable in your own place."

Jenny checked under the bed and found her battered trainers tucked underneath. Slipping them on, she debated her options.

She could stay in the hospital ward taking up a bed when she didn't really need it and endure the well meaning but intrusive attentions of the nurses.

Or she could go home to her own bed where she could keep an eye on Lucan and the only downside would be a sexy brunet crashing on her sofa. Not much of a choice really.

"Lucan, have you got the.."

Jenny wasn't particularly surprised when he pulled the keys to the caravan out of his pocket.

"Looks like we're going home."

**A/N: This was supposed to be a three part story but now it's going to be four – sorry for the huge delay, no excuse but total writers block on everything. The next chapter is mostly written so it'll be up soon.**

"


	5. Zebras and Guilty Consciences End

**Disclaimer: nothing you recognise belongs to me.**

It didn't take very long for the trio to make their way back to Jenny's caravan. A little dizzy and shell-shocked, the red-head concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Once she stumbled only to be caught by Lancelot's hand under her arm, and when he showed no sign of removing it, she let him guide her a little. The air was heavy with smoke which stung her sore throat and made the surroundings blurry, and with unusual docility Jenny let herself be comforted by the warm solidity of the man beside her, waiting while he unlocked her home and ushered both she and Lucan inside.

Wriggling out of her coat, she sank into one of the hard plastic chairs by the kitchen table. Half her hair was escaping from the elastic band she'd shoved it back with and now flopped lank and smelling like a bonfire over her face. Feeling grimy, more than a little crispy around the edges and thoroughly unattractive, Jenny gave a half hearted wish for a huge bathtub filled with scented water before acknowledging that she was so tired that she'd probably fall asleep in it and drown if she actually had one. Perhaps she should just go and stand in front of the cattle shed and let herself get sluiced down along with the cobblestones in the morning.

"Here." A glass of cold water was placed on the table next to her, and Jenny sipped it gratefully, closing her eyes as it slid down, soothing her parched throat. "Sasha gave me some painkillers for you if you need them," Lancelot said, sitting down so close that his knees almost touched hers. "Is your head hurting you?"

Jenny shook her head slightly. The ache was dull and low; she had a feeling that if she needed medication it would be the next morning when whatever the nurse had given her in the hospital had worn off. Rubbing a hand over her mouth, she gave Lancelot a rueful smile. "This wasn't quite the evening I had in mind."

He laughed and reached over, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, his dark eyes softened with more tenderness than she would have given him credit for.

"You promised fireworks and you didn't disappoint."

The brief brush of his fingers against her cheek made Jenny swallow hard and hope that he hadn't noticed the involuntary shiver that had nothing to do with the cool of the evening. Deciding to focus on her grubby hands clasped in her lap, she couldn't help smiling at his next words.

"It's traditional to burn a Guy on bonfire night though. If I thought you were going to offer to do your own tribute to The Wicker Man I'd have talked you out of it. There are a few people I wouldn't mind seeing barbecued but you aren't on the list."

She shrugged. "To be honest it wasn't really on my to-do list either."

Lucan trotted into the kitchen with a damp cloth, a comb and a thoughtful, if not particularly practical bottle of shampoo.

"You're all sooty," he said solemnly, glaring at Lancelot and dabbing at her face in a propitiatory fashion. Jenny ducked back when he got a little to enthusiastic and nearly took her eye out, but let him finish wiping her cheeks before pulling the boy onto her lap. Lucan's false bravado didn't fool her – she saw the worry in his blue eyes and imagined the fear he must have felt at the prospect of losing his guardian so soon after losing his parents.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart,"she whispered against his blond curls. "I didn't mean to scare you."

" I wasn't scared," Lucan retorted indignantly and wholly unconvincingly.

"You did really well getting those kids out of harms way," Lancelot said trying to take the boy's mind off the what-could-have-beens that were no doubt running through his mind. "You'll make a really good soldier one day."

Lucan smiled. "Yeah, that's what Dagonet says." He wriggled off Jenny's lap and re-tousled his hair where she had smoothed it down. "He says you're pretty good at fighting too, even if Bors calls you a "pretty boy"."

Jenny stifled a laugh and Lancelot rolled his eyes. "Yeah, well Bors is full of..." He caught the look Jenny gave him and quickly amended his reply. "Bors doesn't always speak without thinking first."

Lucan shrugged. "Galahad says more rubbish comes out of his mouth than out of his arse. I like him though – he says he reminds me of his kid Gilly."

"Yeah, Bors is alright. Just maybe don't repeat some of the words he comes out with, okay?" Lancelot glanced over at Jenny who didn't dare meet his eyes.

"Alright."

Stifling a yawn, Jenny was quite happy to let Gilly make up a spare bed of sorts on the couch for Lancelot. There wasn't much room for him, but he refused her half-hearted protestations that she and Gilly would be alright for the night.

"I promised Sasha that I'd keep an eye on you overnight. If anything happens then it's on me," was his adamant and inarguable protest. Jenny didn't have much to counter that – he'd got her out of the hospital ward and back home; if he was willing to sleep on her little couch then she was inclined to let him. In truth the idea of him sleeping only a few yards away gave her a warm feeling of comfort that she wasn't quite sure how to explain. Wearily slipping out of her grubby clothes and into an oversized t-shirt and shorts, she snuggled underneath the duvet and barely noticed when Lucan curled up next to her.

* * *

The next morning marked the start of a new routine for Jenny, Lancelot and Lucan. Waking to the aroma of toast and instant coffee, Jenny dragged herself out of bed and watched with amusement through the crack of the bedroom door as both Lancelot and Lucan attempted to make breakfast without disturbing her. Lancelot's muffled curse as he fished the bread out from beneath the grill and shook his fingers to cool them off was met with a glare by the young boy, and when Lucan tripped over the edge of the linoleum, Lancelot caught him by the scruff of the neck, sending them both into hurriedly silenced giggles.

Jenny took the few minutes of privacy to dress and attempt to do something with her hair, which unruly at the best of times had not responded well to almost being flash fried. When she emerged from the bedroom she exclaimed with genuine pleasure and did her best to look surprised at the modest feast. The warm glow at seeing the young blond boy and the handsome brunet man look relieved at her pleasure, however was entirely unfeigned.

From that day on it became a sort of unacknowledged rule that Lancelot would come for breakfast. Sometimes he would arrive with a half dozen eggs from Alice, who with Gawain's help had converted one of the ruined out-buildings into a run for the forty or so hens and counting that had been rescued from the nearby villages. Sometimes Lucan, fresh from scouting with Tristan would bring home a bag full of field mushrooms, or Jenny would be given a bag of potatoes for hash browns or some tins of baked beans in return for mending one of the refugee's flashlights or generators. Most of the time however it didn't really matter what they ate. As the days went by it became a comfortable routine where the conversation flowed easily, and despite the continual turmoil outside for an hour or so there was nothing but laughter and friendship in the little caravan.

Of course things were somewhat different when Lucan was not around.

Careful by nature and not willing to make things awkward for Lucan by rushing into a relationship too fast, Jenny made it clear that although she liked Lancelot and enjoyed his company, she was not going to jump into bed with him until they had gotten to know each other a little more. True they had shared a few, frankly breathtaking kisses, and certainly although she tried to elevate her thoughts above mindless lust, it was a bit difficult not to acknowledge that Lancelot had a world class bum when he bent down to put the dishes in the sink, and while she was interested in his opinions and surprisingly funny stories, it was hard not to wonder if that peat soft voice of his was also part of what kept her spell-bound.

For his part, Lancelot , although behaving like the perfect gentleman had given signs that while he was willing to wait, he certainly wasn't immune to her charms as a woman. There were a few too many moments that his eyes dropped to her cleavage when her shirt was unbuttoned a little to far (and not entirely by accident), and when she'd accidentally dropped half a plate of chilli onto his lap, the evidence she'd felt as she tried to mop him up before her hand was pushed away certainly left no room for doubt that he wanted her.

But she had been the one who had asked to take things slow, so it fell to her to take the relationship up a notch. Jenny frowned. In a romantic comedy she should send Lucan off to stay with one of his friends and open the door to Lancelot in nothing but sexy lingerie. Thinking of the greying bras and knickers in the drawer, she nixed that idea. She'd look more Victoria Wood than Victoria's Secret trying to play the vamp. Cooking a seductive meal wasn't really on the cards either – it wasn't like she could pop down Marks and Spencers and serve up a delicious meal while hiding the wrappers and pretending that she had cooked things herself. Glancing at the cupboard Jenny was pretty sure that the most exotic thing that resided in it was a tin of Spam of dubious vintage. Racking her brains for inspiration the idea came as a bolt from the blue. It was a little bold, but hopefully not too brazen. All she had to do was talk Burgess, who owed her anyway, into doing her a favour.

* * *

It didn't take much in the way of persuasion to get Lancelot to come to dinner, nor for Lucan to find something else to do for the evening. Dropping in on the Barracks where the Samartian lived, Jenny followed the excited chatter coming from down the hall when she found his room empty. Trying not to giggle, she watched as Alice bossed both Galahad and Gawain into holding a vast swathe of silk while she pinned it around an uncomfortable looking Kate. As a wedding dress it would probably end up looking rather lovely, but Jenny had the sneaking suspicion that Tristan's increasing scouting trips were more to do with his bride's maid of honour's enthusiasm than any actual need for patrol.

"There." The brunette looked at her creation proudly. "Now Lancelot," she said to the slightly panicked looking Samartian holding an armful of gauzy material. "I just need you to.."

"Actually," Jenny interrupted, "I'm really sorry but can I borrow Lancelot for a moment? It's important."

Lancelot gave her a look of such gratefulness that Jenny's had to struggle not to laugh.

"Are you sure?" Alice looked rather disappointed. "I was going to get him to help model the veil for Kate."

"I'm sure," Jenny said firmly, trying to ignore the other two men who were looking at her with the sort of tragically imploring looks usually made by puppies on RSPCA posters.

"Thanks," Lancelot said with a deep and heart-felt sigh as soon as they were clear of the barracks. "I was about two minutes from having my manliness raped by diamante in there."

"I don't know." Jenny pretended to consider the thought. "You could have pretended to be one of those sparkly vampires from that book series. Girls went nuts for them."

Lancelot suppressed a shudder. "You aren't helping. Anyway," he looked at the woman beside him curiously. "Not that I'm not grateful for the get out of wedding hell ticket, but you said you needed me for something important."

"I did." Fishing her keys out of her pocket, Jenny bounded up the steps to her caravan and unlocked the door. "I've got you a job and a present."

Intrigued, Lancelot followed her inside closing the door behind him. Catching the little parcel that Jenny tossed to him it took a moment for him to work out what it was.

The deadbolt was still in its plastic packaging, the screws to fix it onto the bedroom door attached in its own little bag. Jenny had fashioned a bow out of a bit of faded pink ribbon and stuck it on top if the cardboard backing. The final effect was possibly the strangest, ugliest gift that Lancelot had ever received, but glancing up at Jenny to make sure that he was reading the meaning of it correctly and catching the sparkle in her brown eyes, by far the most romantic.

"I thought I'd be a bit forward," she said, taking it from him once he'd slid the ribbon out of the bow. "It's to go on the bedroom door... For you know... When maybe we didn't need Lucan joining in without warning." Jenny was blushing so hard that Lancelot was tempted to ask her if she wanted to take her cardigan off, but that in turn led to thoughts of what was under the cardigan, and forcing down questions about just how down the blush went, he gave a smile.

"It's probably the best present I've ever had," he said slowly. "But where on earth did you get it?"

"Burgess gave it to me." The answer was innocent enough, but Jenny didn't quite meet his eyes.

"Burgess?" Lancelot thought about the friendly but not exactly tactful man in charge of the camp's artillery. "Perhaps he's mellowing with age. Did you tell him it was for Lucan's..."

"I pretended it was for Lucan, he pretended to listen and told me that you needed a good shag and quite a lot more about a weekend he and his ex-boyfriend spent in a caravan than I needed to know," Jenny interrupted before he could finish. Tucking her arms under her breasts she wished that they had had this conversation outside. Even if she discarded the cardigan (which would look a bit like a blatant come-on – and how silly was that? She'd just handed Lancelot a lock. A sex-lock. Like a chastity belt in reverse for the caravan. Oh God, she should just not think. This whole thing had sounded a lot less embarrassing in her head.) her cheeks would still be flushed and Lancelot would still be leaning against the door with his dark eyes narrowed and his mouth curved in a slight smile. _It was bloody cheating, _she thought indignantly. _Just because he had the ability to make her throw all attempts at playing it cool out the window shouldn't mean that he could just stand there seemingly unaffected. This was amusing to him. This was a mistake. A terrible mistake. She was going to be yet another notch on his bedpost, and it wasn't like she could avoid him afterwards... Perhaps they should have just kept being friends. Her heart started racing. Oh God, what would her mum have said? _

Lancelot read the change in her expression and pushed himself away from the wall. There was something hard to read – perhaps panic or regret in his expression as he stood aside, giving her access to the door, but Jenny paused rather than bolting outside.

"Jenny..."

"Lancelot..."

They both spoke at the same time, and with a half laugh, Lancelot rubbed a hand through his dark curls. "You first."

_Ok... _Jenny's mind chose that moment to go entirely blank. _There really was no actual way to say "please don't break my heart" to someone that you hadn't even gone to bed with though was there?_ "What are you thinking?" she asked eventually.

"I'm fucking terrified," he answered almost immediately. When Jenny looked lost for words, he took a couple of steps over to the bed and sat down with a wince. "Sorry, I'm pretty embarrassed already, I'm really not ready for you having to actually have to drag me out of here if my leg gives out."

"There's an emergency exit next to the bathroom," Jenny said numbly. "It's not that far. I shouldn't have pushed. If you give me a minute I'll find someone to help you back to the barracks."

"What?" Lancelot looked at Jenny in confusion. The blush that had coloured her cheeks had fled and her skin was now so pale that it highlighted how grubby the white walls of the small room had become. Mentally re-running his last words through his mind he would have kicked himself if he had been in possession of two fully functioning lower limbs. Instead he dropped his head into his hands and gave Jenny a side-ways look. "Well that came out wrong," he said eventually.

"Which bit?" The red-head had retreated to the corner of the bedroom rather than racing towards the door which was vaguely encouraging, Lancelot thought. The look of bewildered hurt in her eyes made him want to offer her some sort of rusty but sharp implement with which to wound him in return, however. Glancing at the stained carpet, he wondered if someone had done the same thing to someone else there in the past.

"_The.." Fuck-it, might as well be honest and risk her ridicule or pity. The truth may or may not set him free but trying to save face wasn't really an option any more. _"You're beautiful, Jenny," he said quietly. "You're strong, brave, warm... Lucan's told me about the other men at the camp after you – better men than me. That.." He nodded at the lock that lay half unwrapped and discarded on the bedroom table. "That's more than an opportunity for sex to me. It's your choice what you do with it, but if you ask me to put it up then it's "our" lock."

For a long time Jenny didn't say anything. Her eyes, usually a warm walnut brown seemed almost obsidian as she studied him. Too drained to do much but sit and wait for her verdict, Lancelot tried to tamp down the spark of hope that flared when she crossed the short distance between them and sat down on the bed. She didn't say anything for a long while, but her plump bottom lip was trapped between her front teeth and her brow was furrowed. If he hadn't felt as though both Bors and Dagonet were sitting on his chest and Tristan had cut his vocal cords, Lancelot would have teased her about looking like she was studying for a maths test.

"You can be the one to ask Burgess for a screw-driver," she said eventually. "He's already laughed at me once, it's your turn."

Lancelot kept his face studiedly calm, but his cheeks ached from trying to suppress a smile. "He'll laugh at you the next time he sees you anyway."

"True." Jenny's hand crept into his, and Lancelot squeezed it gently. "Maybe we should give them something more interesting to talk about."

"Oh I'm all for that." Dropping her hand, he cupped the back of her head, kissing first her top lip before licking the bottom and smiling as she opened her mouth to him. Heady from the sweetness of her taste and the softness of her breasts pressing against his chest, it took a moment for him to register that they weren't alone and that Jenny was wriggling away.

"Get a room." Lucan's blue eyes regarded them disapprovingly from the doorway, but before either of the adults had time to form a retort the boy had wandered off to the kitchen and set about ransacking the fridge.

"Tomorrow," Lancelot swore to a giggling Jenny who had flopped back onto the bed. "I'm putting the lock up first thing tomorrow."

"The best things come to those who wait." Jenny raised herself up on to her elbows, and gave a smile that promised a whole lot of things that certain parts of Lancelot's anatomy were rather keen on trying out right now thank-you very much.

"You and him are going to kill me," Lancelot said resignedly. "I survived the war and the virus and I'm going to die right here in this caravan."

"I said that you could leave if you wanted," Jenny pointed out.

"Yeah. Well. My room at the barracks is really far away and I have a bad leg."

"You do," she agreed. "You probably shouldn't walk too far."

"Might as well stay here then."

"Yeah." Jenny's tone might have been playful, but when he took her hand and placed it upon his heart, her eyes were warm. "Why go all the way over there when you've already got a home here?"

"Can't think of any reason at all." Pulling her against him, Lancelot kissed the top of Jenny's head and listened as Lucan dropped something with a clatter in the kitchen. _Funny, _he mused, _he'd never thought that peace would be quite so noisy._

**A/N: **

**Victoria Wood for those who don't know her is a very funny British comedian who usually plays quite frumpy characters. She's awesome in "Acorn Antiques" - a spoof soap opera.**

**Well this chapter was pretty much entirely talk – sorry about that. In my defence when it comes to action I don't think there's much of the camp left for me to blow up! There won't be any more updates on this for the foreseeable future unless somewhere down the line an idea grabs me. If anyone wants to play in the "Chosen" AU then they are welcome to do so. Thanks everyone who read it and whose feedback made the AU so much fun to write x.**


End file.
